Those Eyes
by HOTTERTHNU
Summary: Set after 'The Ties That Bind'- Ryan's gone and Kirsten realizes just who he is...what will happen when Ryan finds out some surprising truths?
1. Prologue

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

A/N: This story takes place after the finale, except for the first chapter. This chapter is completely in the past. Read and review! Oh, and thank you to some readers for pointing out pregnancy weight and stuff...part of my chapter got deleted :( But now it's all fixed. So thanks for making me realize I screwed up with the formatting!

* * *

"Push, Kirsten, push," the doctor urged the flushed, flustered woman. "You're almost done."

With one final "Oomph" Kirsten lay back on the fluffed out pillow, eyes closed and mouth agape.

"There, there." The doctor patted Kirsten's knee. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Kirsten only groaned in response. She was listening, listening for the cry of her baby. Soon it wouldn't be her baby any more. She opened her eyes and saw a nurse cleaning off her baby, who was, surprisingly, not making a sound. The nurse finished cleaning the baby and brought it over to Kirsten.

"Would you like to hold him?" The nurse asked hopefully. Kirsten shook her head. She couldn't. It would just be too hard to give him up after that. She had a baby boy. Squeezing her eyes shut so no tears could escape, Kirsten willed herself to nod 'yes'. This was her only chance, her only chance to see her child.

"Thank you." Kirsten found herself staring at a pair of the most brilliant blue eyes she'd ever seen. Her son had also magically sprouted a head of blonde hair while in the womb. He was perfect. She couldn't do this any more…Suddenly feeling weak, Kirsten kissed her boy, her baby on the head and stole one more glance at his piercing eyes before handing him back to the nurse.

The nurse smiled sadly. "You did a good job, Kirsten."

Kirsten managed a small smile for the nurse, but she wanted her to leave—now. She couldn't stand to look at the beautiful face of her child any longer; a second too long and she'd never be able to let him go.

The nurse left the room with Kirsten's child, and the doctor entered a moment later. Kirsten quickly bit her lip to hold back the tears she so desperately needed to shed.

"Hello, Kirsten." The doctor was holding a clipboard and a pen. "Here are the papers."

Kirsten nodded, her world blurred by tears. She took the pen and clipboard, signing blindly at each _x_. Once she'd gone through the stack of papers, she shook the doctor's hand.

"You're doing the right thing," the doctor said, even though Kirsten hadn't asked him for his opinion or support. "I know it must be hard."

He didn't know how hard it was, Kirsten thought bitterly to herself. He probably had a loving wife, two beautiful children, and a house with a white picket fence. Or some variation of it. He didn't know.

"Everything appears to be in order, so when you've rested up a few days, you can check out and go home, Kirsten." The doctor consulted a chart hanging up next to Kirsten's bed. "Unless, of course, you'd like to meet the family adopting your child."

Kirsten didn't answer, so the doctor shook his head solemnly. "Yes…I didn't think so. Have a nice day, Kirsten."

She laid her head back on the pillow, exhausted from childbirth and from the pain of losing her first child, her beautiful baby boy. Maybe she shouldn't have signed those papers. She could have made her father understand…oh, who was she kidding? Kirsten wasn't old enough or prepared enough to have a child, especially when she wasn't married. It was for the best. She'd finish college, get married, and be the perfect child her father expected her to be. That was what she would do, because she was Kirsten Nichol, perfectionist and favorite daughter of Caleb Nichol, perhaps the wealthiest man in Orange County.

After a few hours Kirsten woke up; she wasn't in a private room and the bed next to her was now occupied. The nurse tending to the other woman saw Kirsten and hastily drew the curtain between beds. It was so thin that Kirsten could practically see the woman hunched over in pain, face red and rosy.

She sighed and laid her head back on the pillow. Looking over at the phone, she decided to wait a few more days. Dealing with Sandy would be too exhausting right now.

--

Today she was being released. Yet, with nowhere to go, not calling Sandy wasn't much of a choice. Her father had probably forgotten about her; after all, she'd had limited contact with him for over a year. Sandy was the only option.

She looked over at the phone and picked it up, fingers shaking, and she dialed a number she'd started to dial so many times over the last nine months. But she'd never actually worked up enough courage to stay on the line until he picked up.

"Hi, Sandy."

"Kirsten?" His voice was a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Can…Can I come back?" It was time to go home.

"Of course," Sandy replied instantly. "Where are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"That'd be great." Kirsten hadn't realized how tired, how worn she was And she especially hadn't realized, until now, how much she missed Sandy. She didn't know how she managed to survive for three quarters of a year without hearing his voice, without speaking directly to him.

She remembered passing a 7-Eleven on the way to the hospital yesterday, and gave Sandy directions to the convenience store. She told him what city, too, given the vast quantities of 7-Eleven's in the country. Then, she rode the elevator downstairs and checked out of the hospital wearing a baggy Berkeley sweatshirt that hid the remains of her pregnancy quite well.

But she had to see him again. Just one more time and his face would be etched in her memory. It wouldn't be enough, but it would have to do. She rode the elevator back up to the maternity ward, and, peering through the glass, saw her baby, her son. He was not sleeping; rather, his eyes, those gorgeous eyes, were looking around and his toes were wiggling excitedly.

A young couple next to Kirsten was also looking at the multitude of babies. She wondered which one was theirs. The man was scruffy looking, and she noticed that his fingernails were dark and stained with what appeared to be oil. The woman had straggly bleached blonde hair. Kirsten was still the same daddy's little princess she'd struggled to _not_ be for so many years. She was sure they were nice people, who cared what they looked like? Still, Kirsten was sure they didn't have a lot of money, and felt sorry for their baby, whose future was pretty much determined already.

"He's perfect," the man said. "Just think; in a few hours he'll be ours."

"Look at those eyes," the woman responded. It was then that Kirsten knew. These were the people who would be taking home her baby. Her child. She had signed over her son to _these_ people. "Trey's going to be such a proud big brother."

Kirsten felt a pit forming in her stomach. This was what her child was going to become? This was his new family? She'd made a mistake. A large mistake. She had to leave before she did something stupid, before she could further regret putting her son up for adoption.

Blinking back tears yet again, she hurried to the elevators and got in without one last look at her child. Still, she'd know those blue eyes anywhere.

At the 7-Eleven, Kirsten ordered a cherry Slurpee and sat outside on the curb to wait for Sandy. He pulled up twenty minutes later.

"Are you okay?" Sandy asked, wrapping Kirsten in a warm hug. He smelled like cigarettes and cologne, and Kirsten knew he'd recently visited his mother. "Where have you been for the last year?"

"Nine months." Kirsten couldn't help but point that out. Hopefully Sandy wouldn't get it, that for the last nine months she'd been pregnant and in hiding. In hiding, as in, hiding from Sandy, hiding from her father, and hiding from the father of her baby.

Sandy didn't seem to understand. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But what have you been doing? Why did you disappear? I thought you were dead…or worse."

"Worse?" Kirsten raised her eyebrows. What could be worse than death?

"Maybe you got blackmailed into working for your father," Sandy said, laughing. "Or you married Cooper…Jimmy, right?"

The pit in Kirsten's stomach grew. Surprisingly, her father hadn't blackmailed or guilted her into coming home, and she definitely wasn't going to marry Jimmy. But…

"No," she said easily, although her stomach was killing her now. "I just…needed to get away, I guess. Explore the world, broaden my horizons."

"Explore the world?" Sandy raised his eyebrows skeptically. "When you called me, I thought you were in another state…maybe even another country. But no, you're living half an hour away from me."

"You know what I mean." Kirsten took a sip of her melting Slurpee. Sandy pulled on the straw and took a sip himself.

"So how have you been?"

"Okay, I've been better. How about you?" And it's the truth. She was happier, better, when she was with Sandy. But one drunken night had changed that. Kirsten had ruined her chance at happiness.

Sandy laughs. It's good to hear him laugh. Kirsten hadn't realized until now how much she missed his laugh. "Do I look okay?" He really doesn't. His eyebrows are ruling his face with their unruliness, he hasn't shaved in a few days, and he desperately needs a haircut.

He's just the way Kirsten likes him. He's perfect in her eyes.

"You look fine." Kirsten gently brushed a lock of Sandy's overgrown hair out of his face. "Let's just get out of here."

In the car, Sandy turned on the radio and Kirsten quickly changed it. Sandy changed it back and Kirsten changed it yet again. Soon Kirsten's hand collided with Sandy's, and shockingly, he tightened his grip on her hand.

"Enough," he said firmly, but smiled nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 1

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

Note: The italicized part is a flashback. No, it's not a copy of the show word for word. I altered it slightly, because it's my story and...well, I couldn't find an exact transcript. Anyway, it wasn't intended to be a direct copy in case anyone was wondering. Oh, and **The Ex** will be updated tomorrow. Thanks for the great response to **And He Fell In Love**. You guys are way too supportive.

* * *

_"Please Kirsten, let him stay. It's just for the night anyway." Sandy begged his wife, who was staring suspiciously over Sandy's shoulder._

_"Did you turn the car off?" She asked, ignoring his question. "Because if you did, I wouldn't be surprised if that boy dri—"___

_"Kirsten." Sandy dangled the keys before her eyes. "Please."___

_"Fine. But one night, and one night only. And he'll stay in the pool house." ___

_Sandy kissed her gently on the cheek and went back outside to retrieve his latest client from the car.___

_"You can stay."___

_Ryan didn't look up. He continued to play with the frayed hem of his white tank top, the shirt so affectionately referred to as a wife-beater, or so Seth told Sandy. "That's great," he said, clearly not excited.___

_He followed Sandy into the house, eyes greedily feasting on his fortunate surroundings. His lawyer—or rather, his lawyer's wife—had some serious money. "This is my son, Seth." The lanky, curly-haired boy was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, playing video games. ___

_"Hey." The boy paused his game and turned to look at Ryan. ___

_"Well, I'll leave you two alone." Sandy disappeared back into the kitchen.___

_"So, you want to play Grand Theft Auto…sorry, we don't have to, I mean…"___

_"It's fine. Whatever."_

_Seth grinned with the warmth of a friendship Ryan could feel spreading throughout his body. Seth told a joke that Ryan barely heard; all he knew was that an infectious laugh had stained his cold shield of indifference and it felt good to laugh.___

_Kirsten peered into the family room, where Seth and Ryan were laughing about something. Ryan sat down next to Seth and grabbed a game controller.___

_She felt a hand on her shoulder. "He's a misled boy, Kirsten, not an escaped convict." ___

**_Not yet_**_, Kirsten thought to herself. There was some quality to Ryan that Kirsten didn't like. She didn't like it one bit. "I know." He was quite the good-looking teenager. Short sandy hair, a buff build, and he wasn't too short, either. His eyes were oddly blue, a piercing, intriguing blue that called to Kirsten. ___

_Something about them was all too familiar…no, it was nothing, and as quickly as the notion had popped into Kirsten's head, it left._

_"I hope you like takeout," she called to Ryan, turning to her husband with eyes that sparkled and shone merrily. She was happy, and didn't quite know why. After all, one of Sandy's 'troubled' clients was in the house and Kirsten sensed difficulty. A deep feeling rose up from her stomach and bubbled, gurgling, at the tip of her tongue. She hadn't felt this way in a long time…_

* * *

Kirsten watches Theresa pull out of the driveway in that hideously old fashioned yellow convertible of hers. She waits until Ryan is out of sight before going back into the pool house. Even though Kirsten employs a housekeeper four days a week, she begins to strip the bed of its sheets, his sheets, the sheets Ryan had slept on for months, just shy of a year.

And then she sits down, as a pair of brilliant blue eyes dance in front of her. Tears in her own blue eyes, Kirsten clutches the sheets.

Ryan is her son.

She is sure of it, doesn't know how she didn't know it before. Those eyes are unmistakable; he has to be the one. And Dawn—sure, she looks older, a lot older than the last time Kirsten has seen her, but with the same bleached blonde hair, the same pouty lips.

Ryan is her son (her son!) Her firstborn son. The boy she'd never dreamed of seeing again, of holding again, she's just let him go after taking him in for almost a year.

And at first, she hadn't trusted him. Other than the obvious reason of him being a juvenile delinquent, Kirsten hadn't been able to pinpoint what it was about Ryan she despised and loved. Now she knows. He reminded her of herself, of Jimmy, of the past she'd tried to bury when she put him up for adoption.

Over the course of a few months, Kirsten has grown to love Ryan with a deep passion, one that stems from the innermost reaches of her heart. And before, she hadn't exactly been able to say why, other than the fact that Ryan was a sweet, good-natured kid who had done so much for her other son, Seth. Now she knows. It is because he is truly her own.

Kirsten doesn't know when she started to consider Ryan as her own. But he was hers long before she trusted him, long before she knew of his life, of what had happened after that first day in the delivery room.

Ryan is her son! And she's just let him out of her life. Just like that. Kirsten hasn't even had a proper goodbye, hasn't had the chance to tell him she loves him like a son, because he is her son. Because she didn't know, didn't know of the reason behind her love, until Ryan had left.

She has to go after him, has to tell him. Maybe then he'll feel like part of the family. Their family.

My God. Sandy. And Seth. And Marissa—ew, Marissa. Ryan had hooked up with her, Kirsten knows that much. She only hopes they hadn't…well, done it.

Incest, anyone?

Ryan had dated his half-sister.

His half-sister.

It wasn't his fault, though, not in any way, shape, or form.

He hadn't known. Kirsten hadn't known. Marissa hadn't known. And Jimmy certainly hadn't known.

Oh my. This is all too much for Kirsten to process right now.

She has to tell Sandy. And Ryan. But Sandy first. He'll probably be angry, furious even, that Kirsten didn't tell him. But he'll also be jubilant, exuberant that Ryan is Kirsten's own.

She makes her way back into the house and up the stairs and knocks softly on her closed bedroom door. "Sandy?"

"We need to talk." Kirsten enters the room and sees Sandy crying at the foot of the bed. He wearily lifts his head, and Kirsten feels disheartened. Even his two lively eyebrows are lackluster, not quirking about in their usual manner.

"Sit down."

Kirsten sits down next to Sandy and takes his hand in her lap. "Sandy…I don't know any better way to say this…"

"Go ahead…" Sandy patiently waits for Kirsten to breathe, as her chest has tightened and her lungs feel small, too small to handle all of the emotions running through her veins right now.

"Ryan's my son," Kirsten blurts out, and collapses in a heap of tears and relief. She's told Sandy. It is okay, for now. Obstacle number one is no longer an obstacle.

"Hon, I know you're upset that he's gone, but Ryan's not a child any more. I want to adopt him as much as you do, though." He doesn't understand. Kirsten can't believe it. Sandy really doesn't get it. God, this is so much harder than it should be. She's Ryan's mother, god damn it!

"That's not what I mean, Sandy." Kirsten sniffs. Perplexed, Sandy motions for her to continue. "I mean…Ryan's my biological son."

"Your…biological…son…" Sandy says slowly, as if unable to believe what his ears have just transferred to his brain. "Ryan…how…when…?"


	3. Chapter 2

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

Note: I know it's a little out there but this is AU, people. Oh, and all R/M shippers beware: Well, obviously this is not a fic including their romance but if you're going to get upset seeing Ryan with someone else (possibly) then don't read it and then complain. They can't be together because they're related! Sorry for the short-ish chapter. Chapter four will be longer and most likely better.

For the sake of this fic, Ryan is already seventeen and Seth is sixteen.

Thanks for all of the positive reviews.

* * *

"Sandy…" Kirsten begins, one eye on her husband and one on the door. Knowing him, he's going to bolt any second. "Jimmy and I—"

"Don't even tell me. You fucking went back to Jimmy? While we were together?" Sandy looks at Kirsten with utter contempt.

"Sandy…I was drunk…it was a mistake. I didn't know what to do!"

"You could have told me then." Even Sandy knows this wasn't an option for Kirsten.

"And then what? We probably wouldn't be married, wouldn't have Seth, wouldn't have any of this." Kirsten gestures wildly. He's upset. He's really upset. "Sandy…I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You're sorry? Well that's _nice_. I suppose you'd like to just put this all behind us?"

"No, Sandy…but it will make us stronger. I am sorry. I didn't know until…he left. But now we're a family, a family for real. Sandy, doesn't that mean _anything_ to you?"

"Don't try to blame this on me, because being a family _is_ fucking important to me. That's not the issue, don't try to change the damn subject, Kirsten!"

"Sandy!" Kirsten yells angrily. "I'm sorry, goddamit, I'm sorry I didn't tell you when it happened…but I didn't, okay!? There's nothing you can say or do to change _that_."

Sandy's eyes darken with anger. "I don't know what to do…" He grabs his jacket. "I'd better leave before I say something I'll regret."

Kirsten sighs. He's such a good husband, even when they're screaming heatedly at each other. If Sandy doesn't leave he will say something he's bound to regret. Like always, he needs time to cool off. But doesn't he understand? Doesn't he understand that she wanted to tell him, knew she needed to tell him? Doesn't he understand that she just couldn't tell him then, and ruin her future?

Doesn't he realize that if she had told him about her son, there would be no Seth, there would be no marriage, no house, no memories?

"I love you," manages to escape Kirsten's lips before Sandy forcefully slams their bedroom door shut. Kirsten shudders and waits until she hears the front door slam, hears Sandy start the car, and zoom out of the driveway before she breaks into tears.

She's lying in bed, fully clothed, a few sleepless hours and she's gotten more and more frantic. Sandy hasn't called, hasn't come home, this isn't like him. Even in his state of extreme duress, he's not like this usually.

The phone rings, and Kirsten's heart jumps out of her throat. Hurriedly she turns on the light and reaches for the phone.

"Hello?"

"This Kirsten Cohen?"

"Yes." Kirsten sits up. "Is something wrong?"

The man laughs. "You know a Sandy Cohen?"

"Yes." Quite frankly, Kirsten doesn't know why this man is laughing. Sandy is not a laughing matter. He's her husband. He couldn't be at the hospital…this isn't how they act in a hospital, is it?

"Bill Saunders. I own Bailey's. Sandy's here, says he's your husband. And ma'am, he's drunk out of his mind. He's been asking for you."

"I'm on my way." Kirsten rolls out of bed, thankful she kept her clothes on.

The entire car ride Kirsten thinks of what she'll say to Sandy. When she gets to the bar, she doesn't say anything at all. Instead, she quietly walks in, ignoring the hoots of the few other customers. She's relieved to see Sandy spinning around on a barstool.

Once he's safely in the car, he closes his eyes and begins to hum 'Unchained Melody'. Kirsten still doesn't say anything. When they get to the neighborhood, she turns her lights off, so as not to wake the neighbors and start the gossip mill. She helps Sandy out of the car and up to bed, before changing into a nightgown and slipping into bed herself.

--

Kirsten opens her eyes every Saturday morning to the sound of no alarm clock. After all, it's Saturday and therefore she doesn't have to go to work.

This Saturday morning, Kirsten opens her eyes to the sound of Sandy. Groaning, she rolls over and shoves her head under the pillow. She's so not in the mood to deal with Sandy right now, especially not if he's going to yell, and get her all wet because he's just been surfing.

"Kirsten, honey, I brought you breakfast." Kirsten's ears perk at the mention of breakfast but she keeps her head buried under the pillow. "Okay, well I'll just leave it on the nightstand. I love you, Kirsten."

Sandy leaves the room and as soon as Kirsten hears him gently close the door she shoves the pillow to the side and looks at the breakfast tray Sandy has prepared for her. There's scrambled eggs, a croissant, and her favorite—bacon. A glass of orange juice and a vase with three roses in it cover a note Sandy's left for her. She sees it when she picks up the orange juice, as it sticks to the bottom of the perspiring glass.

_Dear Kirsten,_

_I'm so sorry about last night. I shouldn't have left you all alone like that, and I shouldn't have gotten that drunk either. Forgive me? Let's talk later…_

_Love, Sandy_

He's so sweet that Kirsten can't even try to withstand the happy tears that spring to her eyes. She's lucky, the luckiest woman alive to have a man like Sandy, who cares so much about her and her feelings.

She'll talk to Sandy later; right now it was Kirsten and her beloved bacon.

Sandy knocks on Seth's door, a tray laden with food in his hands. "I brought you breakfast. Don't worry, I made it all myself. Your mother didn't help."

Seth doesn't answer and Sandy assumes he is still sleeping. Balancing the tray on one hand, Sandy shakes his head as he checks his watch. It's eleven-thirty; Seth should be up by now. He has to cut the kid some slack; his best friend just left him and it's got to hurt.

Sandy opens the door to Seth's room, preparing to lecture him on why he should go to sleep earlier and how he's wasted the whole morning. But when he sees Seth's empty, unkempt bed and a lump rises in his throat, Sandy decides to skip the lecture. He sets the tray down on the bed and walks over to Seth's computer. Seth sometimes leaves Post-It notes on his monitor when he goes out, telling his parents where he'll be.

Sandy feels the ocean water he swallowed at dawn rise in his throat, nasty, torrid bile. He spots two letters on the desk. One's addressed to Summer, the other, to him and Kirsten.

Slowly, with numb fingers, Sandy picks up the letter addressed to him and begins to open it. On second thought, he runs out of Seth's room and back into his bedroom. Kirsten should be there when he opens it.

"Kirsten?" Sandy sees his wife looking so happy, so serene eating that greasy bacon that he just can't bear to show her the letter any more.

"Sandy, I love you." Kirsten is all smiles. She sees the upset look on her husband's face. "Is something wrong?"

"Kirsten." Sandy sits down on the bed next to her. She sees that his hand is closed around something and gently pries open his trembling hand. He resists slightly, but Kirsten coaxes his fingers to reveal their hidden treasure.

"What's this?" She opens the letter addressed to her and Sandy and her heart seriously stops when she reads it.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I've gone on that trip you promised me I could take last summer, before Ryan came. Don't get angry and all parent-y now, because you gave me permission. _

_Mom, I love you and miss you, but please don't try to cook anything for dad. I want both of you safe and healthy when I come home at the end of the summer. Please give Summer my note and tell her I love her. If she needs anything, let her know you're there for her. And don't worry too much, I'll be fine._

_Dad, I love you and miss you too. Don't let mom cook, and tell Ryan I'm sorry I didn't act more upset about his leaving, because really, I was upset. Don't forget anything I've taught you, and please work on your Grand Theft Auto skills. Because I'm talking tournament, all-out war at the end of the summer and I expect you to give me a run for my money (if that's even possible). I'll be fine. I promise I won't get into trouble. Ride some killer waves for me._

_I love you guys. I just needed to get away. And remember: you gave me permission to go on this trip so I expect to be welcomed with open (un-punishing) arms upon my return._

_Love, Seth_

"Sandy…he's gone." Kirsten breaks into tears before Sandy's read the whole letter. Sandy wills himself to think reasonably, rationally. His eyes scan the last line and can't help but think _that's my boy._ But Seth has forgotten rule number one in the parenting handbook: rules are to be revised at any time, without warning.

Still, Sandy wants to point out, just as Seth has, that he was granted permission to go on this trip last summer, but doesn't think that now is the right time to say so. Instead he places his arm around Kirsten and holds her, rocks her like a baby until she becomes calmer. Her eyelids languidly close, aided by the persuasive hands of slumber.

And just when Sandy thinks he's lulled her to sleep, Kirsten reaches over and picks up the phone, eyes aflutter.

"Who are you calling?" Sandy asks. "Kirsten, don't call the police or the Coast Guard. We _did_ give him permission to go on a sailing trip."

"I know." Kirsten dials a number and burrows her head into Sandy's shirt to brush away her newly sprouted tears. "I'm calling Seth's cell. Maybe he's in the harbor still, maybe he's still getting service." Sandy knows that this is highly unlikely; he knows that Kirsten knows this as well. But he has to let her be motherly and do whatever she deems necessary.

She slams the phone down in frustration. "He's not picking up. Oh, Sandy." She collapses in his arms and he holds her tightly again. Her body convulses against his hold, but relaxes eventually, warming up to Sandy's body.

"You know I'm okay now," Sandy whispers.

"What?" Kirsten asks, for she honestly has no idea what Sandy's talking about.

"With Ryan being your son," Sandy explains. With that Kirsten perks up. She picks up the phone and begins dialing again. "I mean, that you hid from me for months…Kirsten, I jus— "

"Seth, please come home, baby. I've got great news…please call, at least to let us know you're okay."

"Kirsten, do you think that's going to work? If anything, he's going to be worried that it's not good news but actually bad news…and then…oh…"

"Sandy," says Kirsten, "Either way, I've given him a reason to come home. Don't you think Seth would come home if he knew Ryan was his half-brother, that Ryan was really a part of this family and could never leave for good?"

Sandy stops to consider this. She's right. She's actually extremely right. "You're right," he admits. "But what do we do now…Seth…"

"We wait," Kirsten interrupts. "Now, we wait."


	4. Chapter 3

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one will be up by Thursday. Oh, and look out for a new chapter of **The Ex.**

* * *

The phone rings and Sandy jumps. It's the second day in a row he's sat by the phone all day, reading the paper but not focusing on the information. It's just something to pass the time, the time until Seth calls.  
  
Kirsten comes into the room with an expectant look on her face just as Sandy picks up the phone.  
  
"Hello?" he says, trying not to get his hopes up. After all, there are about a hundred people that could be calling him right now. The chances that it's Seth are...  
  
"Sandy, it's Ryan." Ryan. Ryan! Ryan. Kirsten still hasn't told Ryan the truth about his lineage. That Dawn is his adoptive mother, not his biological mother. Sandy tries to contain his excitement. This boy is part of his family.  
  
"Hi, Ryan. How are you?" asks Sandy. Kirsten's face falls slightly, but in the next moment she's breaking out into a smile. My son, she mouths happily, and Sandy can't help but agree.  
  
"I'm at the hospital."  
  
"Are you okay? Ryan, what happened? Which hospital?" He's at the hospital, mouths Sandy to Kirsten, whose happy face is immediately replaced with a mask of concern.  
  
Is he hurt? Oh, please don't let Ryan be hurt. Not now, not when she's just learned of his relation to her.  
  
"I'm at Chino Memorial," Ryan tells him. Kirsten snatches the phone out of Sandy's hands and before Ryan can continue she's babbling incoherently.  
  
Is he hurt? What happened? Kirsten goes on and on and repeats herself until Ryan's more than a little confused. Why is she acting...all motherly...not that she didn't before, but Kirsten is a little crazier than normal.  
  
Ryan supposes she's just upset because he left, although he just couldn't be a bother to the Cohens anymore. She's forgotten that he's not Seth, that he's not her child and he's certainly not a child. Ryan decides he'll have to let the Cohens know, in the nicest way possible, that he isn't coming back and they don't need to worry about him.  
  
He really shouldn't have called. They have their own lives to live and he's no longer a part of their lives.  
  
"Kirsten, calm down," Ryan finally manages to say. "I'm fine. Something's wrong with the baby, Theresa's baby, that's all." Maybe he shouldn't have called them. But he has no one else, he needed someone to turn to. He's too much of a bother, though. "I'm sorry I worried you. I'd better go."  
  
"We're on our way." A breathless Kirsten hangs up on a surprised but secretly happy Ryan. They're coming. He can't do this to them though, can't just expect them to drop everything and come to his rescue. But once Kirsten's made up her mind... Ryan will handle it on his own next time. He's not a child, he tells himself, he's a soon-to-be father and needs to start acting maturely.  
  
Kirsten runs into the kitchen. She tosses the keys to Sandy when she comes back into the living room and runs out the door. "Come on, Sandy! We're going to the hospital."  
  
The car ride to Chino Memorial Hospital is tense. Both Cohens are worried about Theresa's condition but they can't help thinking about Seth. "What if he calls while we're at the hospital?" Kirsten finally breaks the silence, voicing her concern.  
  
She doesn't want Seth to call and think that no one's home, that no one cares enough about him to stick around for his call.  
  
"Kirsten..." Sandy begins, "We have an answering machine. We'll check for messages every hour." It's not ideal, but Ryan is their son too, Kirsten's son actually, but he's like a son to Sandy. They need to focus on him right now, for he's done the right thing and come to them for help. It's very unlike Ryan, and Sandy likes to think that Ryan's maturity and level- headedness is due in part to his influence on the boy.  
  
Kirsten smiles and tries to erase the image of Seth burning in her mind. She has to help her other son now. She likes the sound of that. 'Yes, I have two sons, Ryan and Seth'.  
  
She'll tell Ryan as soon as she sees him. Yes, that's what she'll do. A hug and kiss and a revelation.  
  
Kirsten takes a deep breath as they approach the hospital. Sandy parks and they rush into the hospital. "What's Theresa's last name?" Sandy asks Kirsten as a nurse approaches them. For the life of him, Sandy can't remember the girl's last name and he assumes they'll need it to be granted permission to see her.  
  
Before Kirsten can answer, the nurse comes up to them. "Hello, can I help you?"  
  
"We're here to visit a Theresa..."  
  
"...Gonzalez?" The nurse cuts in cheerfully, and helpfully. "Yes...well she's in surgery right now, Mr...."  
  
"Cohen." This time Sandy interrupts. He's liking this nurse a lot right now, right now he could actually kiss her. He knows how much Kirsten wants to see Ryan, and Theresa as well.  
  
"Mr. Cohen. Right. Well, I'll send you up the waiting room." The nurse walks away and Kirsten and Sandy follow her after exchanging glances. Yes, Sandy has to resist the urge to hug this nurse.  
  
Once they reach the waiting room, they see Ryan pacing around nervously. Hugs are exchanged all around, and Kirsten feels tears of fondness spring to her eyes, for right before her is her son, her firstborn son, the son she never knew was actually hers before. He's here, in the flesh.  
  
"How is Theresa?" Kirsten asks dutifully, hugging Ryan for the third time. He hugs her back—again, slightly confused as to why she keeps insisting on squeezing him. She's acting motherly, well, more motherly than usual, but he suspects it's part nerves and part hormones.  
  
"I don't know," shrugs Ryan. The doctors haven't come out of surgery yet. All he knows is that she was lying on the floor, writhing in pain, when Ryan woke up this morning. He turns around and stares at the doors to the operating room, as if by sheer willpower he can make the doctors appear.  
  
Kirsten, she won't stop staring at Ryan, and to tell the truth it's making Ryan uncomfortable. He's not going to disappear if she blinks her eyes, and he wants to tell her this but doesn't think it to be the wisest decision he can make. So instead he keeps his eyes on the doors. Still, he can feel Kirsten's eyes practically boring holes in the back of his head. It's very, very uncomfortable for Ryan and he's beginning to regret phoning the Cohens.  
  
He can't depend on them like this. They aren't his to depend on anymore.  
  
Kirsten's so happy to see her son. She can't keep her eyes off him. Of course, Ryan has become like a son to her over the past months, but not like this. He's hers, he's actually hers. Part of her is living in him, and Kirsten thinks it's the most beautiful thing.  
  
She loves Seth, of course she does, but part of her always wondered what had happened to that first-born child. Now she knows, and she's quite upset with herself, for she's read snippets of Ryan's folder and some of the details sicken her. She put him through it, and she knows it.  
  
But she didn't know it then. She was young and stupid and now she can only hope to start making up for his less than perfect childhood right away.  
  
She wants to tell him that she's his mother, his real mother, but is not sure now is the right moment, not with Theresa on the operating table...But she must tell him, sooner or later, before he finds out from another person, though Kirsten's not sure who. If she waits too long he'll be angry that she kept the truth from him for so long.  
  
"Ryan, there's something I've been meaning to tell you." Kirsten's shaking; she doesn't want to tell him now, it's not the right moment...he doesn't even know about Seth's disappearance.  
  
She resolves to tell him now that she's started, and he looks expectantly at her...but just then the doors swing open and two scrub-clad doctors set foot into the waiting room.  
  
"Mr. Atwood?" The shorter doctor approaches Ryan. "Theresa's in recovery now."  
  
A sigh of relief escapes Ryan, and he looks happily at Sandy and Kirsten. Unbeknownst to him, they are really Sandy and Mom.  
  
"Is she awake?" Ryan asks hopefully. Delight dances into his eyes and Kirsten is proud of him, proud of the man he's become even since last summer, proud of the good he's trying to bring into Theresa's life.  
  
"Yes," the shorter doctor says, drawing out a clipboard and consulting it.  
  
"She's been asking for you," adds the taller doctor. "Right this way..." Ryan turns and smiles apologetically at Sandy and Kirsten and follows the doctor's to Theresa's room in recovery.  
  
"Well," says Sandy, as the doors close and Ryan disappears from sight, "I'm starved."  
  
They go down to the cafeteria, although Kirsten's not really hungry at this point; her nerves have quelled her appetite. She was so close to telling Ryan the truth, but it obviously wasn't the right moment. Now she'll have to gather up enough strength to tell him again.  
  
Maybe she'll tell Ryan about Seth leaving, and then break the news about his relationship to her. Or should she give the good news first? Kirsten knows, deep down, that there isn't really a right way to go about this. It's going to be hard for Ryan and she knows this too, and is willing to admit it, ready to deal with it.  
  
She only hopes he understands why she gave him up. She hopes he won't feel neglected or unloved, because he was prevented from living the life his first sixteen years.  
  
Kirsten can hope all she wants but Ryan is unpredictable and it's best to hope for the best, prepare for the worst.  
  
Kirsten's grabbed a yogurt—the one thing she knows is safe to eat, and Sandy's tray is empty. They pass a display of some sort of meat. It reminds Sandy of his school food from the Bronx, the mystery meat he and his friends were never quite sure of.  
  
"This food looks almost as bad as yours, Kirsten," Sandy jokes, then regrets it. He shouldn't be joking with her, not at a time like this. She's already worried about Seth and about telling Ryan the truth.  
  
But Kirsten laughs appreciatively, the first genuine laugh he's heard her laugh since the night she told him about Ryan.


	5. Chapter 4

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

This is the last chapter for a month, unless you guys review. Then, maybe I'll be nice and type up Chapter 5 really quickly tonight...

* * *

"How're you feeling?" Ryan brushes a lock of Theresa's matted brown hair away from her pasty white face ands sees his watery blue shadow reflected in her dilated pupils.

Theresa manages a wan smile. She shrugs. "Okay…"

Struggling for the right words Ryan kisses her forehead, dried with the sweat of hard labor. He's buying time. For unless he can keep Theresa occupied, he's going to have to ask.

"Ryan?" Theresa nuzzles into Ryan's neck, grimy even after a hundred showers and fierce scrubbings. She withdraws her full lips, slightly faded from exertion but still scarlet, plump. "I—"

"Is the baby dead?" Ryan asks, a listless, vacant look clouding his blue eyes into a dull shade of gray.

Theresa takes a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing. She's close to tears, she can't tell Ryan what he wants to hear. She wishes she could qualm his fears. A tiny tear slips down her face and Ryan mechanically brushes it away, his coarse fingers chafing her cheek.

"The baby's dead, isn't it?" Ryan's voiced is raised and Theresa crumbles beneath it. It's not her fault…she didn't mean for it to end this way. "Damn it, Theresa!" He slaps his forehead in frustration, letting shades of pink tinge with the intent of irritation.

He sees Theresa's eyes welling up with unshed tears for her baby, for him, and he mentally re-slaps himself for allowing a show of emotion. Ryan needs to keep himself together, strong; Theresa needs him for support right now. He's not a rock though, he's not a shield, and although Ryan won't admit it he needs his own support system.

He's just a kid, not a lifesaver but he's not going to surrender until he's crushed on his knees. Because Ryan is strong, or so he tells himself. The outside world might wonder how he does it all but they don't know of the strain on his shoulders with the weight of the world.

They won't know, because Ryan himself won't know, he won't allow it.

"God, Theresa…" Ryan sits on the foot of her bed, careful not to crush her toes beneath the sheets. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to make you cry." Theresa clears the tears and the clouds in her eyes fade away. She nods and sniffles.

"I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispers. In the hospital bed she looks small and vulnerable; exactly what she is, thinks Ryan. He knows she is sorry and he is too.

Ryan must stay strong, must…stay…strong. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, what Ryan really needs right now is a mother's lap to crawl into and cry. He hasn't done that since he was about six, and his mother turned to the bottle, letting nothing—and no one—get in her way.

Theresa's eyelids are closing sleepily, as if pulled down by some unseen magnetic force. She has them open just a crack, and lazily smiles at Ryan. Whatever drugs they gave her post-operation seem to be working.

"You get some sleep, okay?" Theresa nods and presses her lips to Ryan's cheek when he bends over to hug her.

He walks over to the door and Theresa's already snoring softly. "I'm sorry too," he whispers, too late for her to hear.

Ryan walks back into the waiting room and the Cohens are gone. A man who was in there before smiles at Ryan. Ryan feels sick. The Cohens are gone. He wanted them to leave, God knows he wanted to be strong and take care of himself, but he needed them to stay. And they've gone.

This isn't like them and Ryan reminds himself that they aren't his to keep anymore. They don't have to stay for him, especially not when he practically fed them the lie that he didn't want them here. He doesn't have them. Like a dropped oar floating downstream, they are just out of his reach.

"Excuse me, sir, but your parents went down to the cafeteria," the man says helpfully, noticing the bewildered and befuddled expression on Ryan's face.

Ryan can't help it; his entire face lights up and if he weren't a man and weren't intensely into women, he thinks he'd kiss this guy. Of course he won't, it's just a thought that is quickly shoved in the back of his mind, before he embarrasses himself.

Ryan blushes inwardly at this man's wrongful interpretation of the Cohens. They're not his parents, but he wishes they were. It's good to know he can pass for their son, even if he's not their son. Ryan knows people sometimes mistake him for Seth, especially if they've only heard about Kirsten's son, because quite honestly? Ryan looks more like Kirsten's son than Seth, and Seth is actually Kirsten's son.

But he's got to keep himself grounded. He isn't Kirsten's son. He isn't a Cohen. He isn't one of the family. He just isn't.

"Thank you." Ryan's grateful. He's really, really grateful. He might even stop and have a chat with this man, if he didn't remember Kirsten saying she'd been meaning to tell him something. So instead, he offers a rare smile—although the man doesn't know Ryan's smiles are hard to come across—and practically runs out of the waiting room to the elevators.

In the elevator, Ryan is squeezed into the left corner. A short woman in a mink stole is painfully pressing up against Ryan's chest, and the heels of her shoes—a heightening effort—are cutting off the circulation in Ryan's feet. He doesn't say a word; it's so stifling that Ryan needs to use the precious air for breathing.

Finally they stop at the floor before the basement, and two-thirds of the people step off the elevator. The woman with the mink steps forward, and Ryan can't help but breathe a loud, relieving sigh. She turns to glare pointedly at him, and Ryan just averts his eyes to the ceiling.

Ryan walks into the cafeteria, eyes scanning the room for the Cohens. They're not his parents; they merely gave him a place to stay and a feeling of home for a few months. He wishes they were his parents. Seth is lucky to have such great people as his parents, Ryan thinks.

The Cohens may not be his parents, but Kirsten is his mother, although at this point Ryan doesn't know anything about this.

He spots Sandy and Kirsten and begins to make his way through the cafeteria, which is surprisingly crowded given the quality of the food and the time of day.

Kirsten freezes up when she sees Ryan walking towards her and Sandy. She can't tell him right now, she can't talk to him right now. What she really needs is…a cigarette.

She hasn't smoked in years. Starting was just another way to rebel against her father. Quitting was the easiest thing she ever did. But right now she needs a cigarette badly, very badly. That, and going outside will help her avoid Ryan.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Kirsten announces, and hurriedly walks out of the cafeteria. She finds her way to the lobby and walks out the door. Not to her surprise, there are a few others outside, smoking.

All that bullshit about how smoking is bad for you? Kirsten's not buying it, because no matter what anyone says, it's a hell of a stress-reducer.

She goes up to a friendly looking overweight woman in jeans and a loud pink sweater and asks if she can have a cigarette. The woman smiles and hands Kirsten a Newport—and Kirsten laughs. The woman flicks open her lighter and soon Kirsten is smoking that cigarette like her life depends on it.

"You look like you needed that," the woman laughs, and for a while they make small talk. When the cigarette has been smoked thoroughly, Kirsten asks for another. The woman is more than happy to oblige, more than happy to have someone to talk to while she waits.

"My kid's in there. Knee surgery," the woman explains. "I'm Marge, by the way."

"Kirsten."

"So, who're you here for?"

"My son, too," Kirsten says, and then realizes what she just said. And then she realizes that it's okay, because Ryan is her son. Her son. "Well, actually, his ex-girlfriend is pregnant and is having complications." She checks her watch. "I should probably go check on her soon. She got out of surgery a little while ago but only wanted to see my son."

Marge nods sympathetically. "How old is he?" she asks.

"Seventeen."

"Mine too. Star football player, dontcha know. Not anymore, though…unless the operation is successful and even then it'll take at least six months of physical therapy…"

Kirsten is engrossed in conversation and does not see Ryan hovering behind her. He saw her leave the cafeteria and decided, against his better judgment, to follow her. Now he knows that she's a smoker…although he seriously doubts she's lit up in years.

Once she's finished the second cigarette, Kirsten is feeling much calmer and excuses herself from Marge's company. She walks a few feet and flips open her cell phone.

She calls Seth and leaves another message. "Baby, I've got some exciting news." Ryan wonders what the exciting news is. He wonders if Kirsten will tell him too, or if he is no longer included in the family's business, now that he isn't living there anymore. Furthermore, he wonders if he was ever included in their personal matters. He thinks he was, would like to believe he was. Ryan wonders if this supposed exciting news is what Kirsten wanted to tell him earlier.

He doesn't betray his presence just yet. Information is a powerful tool. And there's something about Kirsten's voice that reminds him of…home. Of course, Ryan realizes that his home was a broken one. Always had been and always would be, had the Cohens not taken him in.

Ryan can't pinpoint it exactly, but there's something about Kirsten he misses, even though she's about four feet away from him. He's felt like this for a long time, even when they were talking or hugging, he felt like she wasn't there, like she was gone.

Maybe he'll approach her later…as Ryan turns around to leave, he hears Kirsten talking again. She must have called someone else to tell them the news.

"Jimmy? I've got something to tell you. Please don't get mad. Before you got Julie pregnant, I was pregnant. And I put the baby up for adoption. No questions right now, Jimmy, just let me finish, okay? And now, I've just met him again."

Ryan's eyes are wide open. Does Sandy know about this? Does Seth? Have they kept the fact that Kirsten has a second, or rather, firstborn son, have they kept it a secret?

"Jimmy…Ryan is our son! No…Jimmy, he doesn't know. I haven't told him yet. No, don't! Look, we'll talk later…I've got to go." Slightly flustered and surprised at her sudden burst of confidence, Kirsten turns around at the sound of a gasp.

She sees Ryan with a pained look in those brilliant eyes.


	6. Chapter 5

Josh is quite the genius, isn't he?

So I returned from my trip on Saturday, and I was excited to see the reviews in my Inbox...along with the 300-odd stories and chapters. In the next few days I'll be sorting through them, so expect reviews from me!

* * *

"Mom?" asks Ryan, his eyes locked on Kirsten but body tensed and ready to run. A long pause, and then, "How long have you known, Kirsten?"

"Not long," Kirsten admits, and Ryan can sense in her voice the veracity of her words.

"And yet you told Jimmy before me? Who else did you tell? Marissa? Julie? The Newpsies?"

"Ryan, it's not like that. I was going to tell you at the right time, sweetie."

"Well, I guess _that_ didn't work out. Just like me being your child didn't work out either."

If Ryan wasn't so upset at the news Kirsten hid from him, he might actually be happy. Kirsten is his mother. His biological mother! But…how could his own mother do such a thing to him. She'd put him up for adoption and basically condemned him to sixteen years of misery with Dawn and Trey.

"Nothing you can say will make it untrue. You didn't want me then. You didn't want me last summer. Nothing's changed, Kirsten."

Kirsten blinks. Ryan couldn't be more wrong. She wants him now; she's always wanted him, she just never knew that. He has to understand. She has to make him understand. It's not going to be easy. Through Ryan's eyes, Kirsten had no trouble abandoning him and therefore is more than likely to do it again. It's not like that though…oh, what has she done?

"You have nothing to say? Well, I don't blame you. There's nothing _to_ say. You ditched me and that's that." Ryan feels emptier and emptier as he forces the words out of his mouth. One after another they form spite-filled sentences that batter Kirsten. She deserves this, thinks Ryan, because nothing can make up for what she did. Nothing.

Kirsten's eyes swell with the pressure of tears. Ryan hates her. She's his mother. She should have told him straight away. She should have never put Ryan up for adoption. Kirsten's no fool; she's read the files in Sandy's office and knows of the abuse Ryan's been subjected to, and she's always felt sick to her stomach. Now she knows. She did this to him.

Ryan notices the waves of pain across Kirsten's face, the tears threatening to fall any moment now. She didn't know…Ryan knows this. She couldn't have guessed what the Atwood family would do to Ryan when they'd adopted him oh so many years ago. His guards are breaking down a bit; he's determined to feel nothing for Kirsten, to bestow no pity upon her, but it's hard when his mother's watery eyes gaze lovingly, albeit regretfully, at him.

"How long have you known?" His voice is softer, gentler, wanting to reach out to Kirsten yet not knowing quite how. He's always felt a sort of hatred towards Dawn, like she didn't give him a fair chance. Now Ryan knows, though it's like a knife through the heart. It was Kirsten who put him there. It was Kirsten who determined his future. But apparently she was fate. Still, Ryan cannot put into words, or thoughts, how he feels about Kirsten right now. He never knew it was possible to hate someone with all of his being, yet love them in an underlying shadow with all of his heart and soul. At this time Ryan feels as though killing Kirsten would be both the life and death of himself. He can't decide which he wants more.

"How long?"

"A few days," admits Kirsten. At least it wasn't longer. She prays Ryan won't run, prays that she can sit down with him and cry her heart out until everything is okay. She prays he won't hate her forever, that in knowing of his true roots, he won't discard the Cohens, Seth and Sandy especially, like a moldy loaf of bread. Kirsten's almost positive Ryan will try and avoid her for the rest of his life, and, quite frankly, she's almost positive she can't blame him. After all, if it weren't for her, Ryan wouldn't have had a crappy life.

But would life in Newport, with herself and Jimmy, really have been all that great? Sure, there were the material things, but included in the package was the back-stabbing, the gossip, the fallible relationships and the infidelity.

Even Kirsten had to admit that Ryan would've had a thousand percent better life if he'd been raised in Newport with herself and Jimmy. There was no doubt about it. But what was done was done. There was no going back and altering the past to change the future. How could Kirsten make Ryan aware of this, how could she tell him that the only thing she could do was make sure of his future? She could tell him, but even the right approach would be wrong in Ryan's eyes.

She looks up again at him, his eyes are cold and accusing. "How could you do that to me? Just give up on me like that? You didn't even know me." Kirsten tries to cut in, to explain, to placate Ryan, to say anything at all. But Ryan continues. "You're worse than Dawn. She's more of a mother to me than you'll ever be. You're not my mother."

With each word Ryan knows he's stabbing Kirsten repeatedly, but he doesn't care at this point. He's through with caring. She abandoned him, gave him up to a worthless family. He could've had a great life, if only Kirsten had loved him enough to keep him. That was it. Ryan wasn't good enough, even as an innocent baby.

"I wasn't good enough then, and I'm not good enough now!" Ryan leans in close to Kirsten, so close she can feel the anger on his shaky breath. His teeth are bared and Kirsten's afraid Ryan's gone off the edge, that he's going to attack her.

But Ryan backs off.

And away.

He breaks into a run, disappearing behind the shiny flash of a black SUV, and when it passes he reappears in Kirsten's line of vision.

Kirsten begins to run after Ryan, hoping she'll be able to catch him, that he's slowed down, but knowing that it's not possible. If Ryan wanted to be caught, he would have never run. But, as his mother, Kirsten feels a rising from deep within her soul, an intense cry to stop him, to save him.

"Let him go." And there's Sandy, all cologne and no cigarettes now, but it's him nonetheless.

Kirsten lets Sandy hold her tightly. He's the only man she's got left right now. He won't run from her. Seth left her, Ryan left her. Sandy. He's here.

"You're here," Kirsten mumbles, and Sandy nods, holding Kirsten so forcefully he's not sure he'll ever let her go.

"Yes," murmurs Sandy into Kirsten's hair. "I'm here. Just relax." Sandy has absolutely no idea what he can do. There's really nothing he can say to Ryan to calm him down, and Seth is nowhere to be found.

Everything that's happened since Ryan came would be different if it were not for Kirsten's secret past. Everything. But somehow, Sandy can't even muster up a reason to blame her. Kirsten's to blame, but she's not at fault. Sandy doesn't know how, but he knows he needs to make everyone, Kirsten included, understand this. What happened, happened. Now can be changed, but that's about it.

"It's not your fault," Sandy pacifies his wife. "We'll work it all out, Kirsten. You'll see."

Sandy wants to laugh, but thinks he might cry. Why is it that he always ends up reassuring everyone, even when he has no real way of doing so and actually needs support himself?

Adversity seems to be his middle name, but Sandy always works through the trials and tribulations. He does so because he has to, because if he doesn't, no one else will.

Sandy rests his slightly wrinkled cheek on Kirsten's hair, smelling from the side of his left nostril the coconut mango shampoo she always uses. Sandy sighs with an unknown, slightly disturbing contentment as her head moves steadily against his cheek, her sobs little needles into his body.

"I'm sorry," Kirsten whispers, bawling by now. Sandy sees a small group of people staring curiously at him and his wife, people who have obviously just been witness to the Kirsten-Ryan shouting match. He shakes his head disapprovingly at the nosy ones, who turn their heads.

He really couldn't care less though. Sandy's mind is on Kirsten. Ryan. Kirsten and Jimmy. Seth. Himself and Kirsten. Ryan and Marissa. Marissa. Kirsten. Jimmy. Julie. Julie and Jimmy. Ryan.

Where to start, that is the question.

There's so much to do, but this tangled rope of connections has no apparent end.

"I'm sorry," Kirsten whispers again.

_So am I_, thinks Sandy.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimers apply...

So today's my **birthday**! Doesn't that make you want to review? ;)

Sorry if the chapter is semi-boring. Next chapter is better...I think. Just had to get this one out of the way.

And I should be updating The Ex sometime this week.

* * *

"Ryan." Theresa smiles, beckons for him to enter the room. Ryan steps across the threshold and walks over to Theresa's bed. She presses a button on the side of the bed and soon is in an upright position. He clasps her hand in his and presses it to his heart.

"I'm so sorry," whispers Ryan.

"Don't be." Theresa shakes her head. "It wasn't meant to be, Ryan."

She doesn't understand. Or have the doctors not broken the news to Theresa yet? Ryan's spoken with them; what's paining him so much is the fact that Theresa is sterile now. She lost the baby, their baby, and to make matters worse she can't have any more children. Ever.

"Theresa, do you know…?"

"I know, Ryan," Theresa says gently, "and it's not the end of the world. I'm seventeen, I don't know what I want to do with my life and having a baby would just complicate things. I guess I wasn't meant to have children, either."

"But—" Theresa silences Ryan with a glare.

"We're done talking about this. It's just going to upset me." But it already has. A tear has formed in the corner of her right eye, watering the brown abyss of her pupil.

Ryan gently lets Theresa's hand go. He can't handle this…seeing her…when he did this to her. It's not fair. Life just isn't fair, he thinks. Ryan has to go. If he'd never gotten her pregnant—oh, if only he hadn't slept with her that one time—she would still be able to bear children. She'd still be happy but she's not. Because much as Ryan would like to go back in time and do things differently, change the past, he knows he can't. And it's not fair.

It's really rather ridiculous to connect himself in such a way, Ryan knows, but nevertheless he can't not do it. It's in his nature to place the blame on himself, when, really (at least this time), no one is at fault.

"I have to go."

Theresa nods her head, understanding fully. Ryan's nose is itching and he feels as though he drank too much soda. He knows he's going to tear up if he doesn't leave this room, this room that reminds him of his mistakes and failures, and how he's ruined Theresa's life. The white walls cry to him, all of the people he's wronged are crying to him. And although the walls are blank, devoid of any decoration, Ryan can see his mistakes—talking back to his mother, stealing cars with Trey—written and depicted in full color.

He power-walks down the hallway once he's left Theresa's room, opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator so he won't have to compose himself in front of anyone. Ryan breaks into a run in the lobby and doesn't stop running until he reaches a small park about two miles from the hospital.

Then, he sits down in a swing, the chains holding the simple rubber seat already rusted.

And alone, in the deserted park where the sandbox hasn't held sand for years, Ryan cries.

A small bird chirps in the large, weathered oak tree next to the swings. Ryan looks up, nose dripping and cheeks wet with salty tears, and finds a place in his heart to wedge some hope in.

* * *

Ryan helps Theresa up the steps of her house. He opens the door and leads her into the kitchen, where Theresa's mother is waiting with a chocolate frosted cake and rosemary chicken. It's a treat for lunch and he knows they'll be finishing it off for dinner as well.

Lunch and dinner go by without a hitch. Ryan is sitting in the kitchen reading the job ads. Theresa's mother is out somewhere and Theresa is lying in bed, resting.

"Ryan," yells Theresa. Ryan gets up from his chair and leaves the paper on the table. He runs into the bedroom.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.

Theresa smiles. "Sit down, Ry. We need to talk." Ryan obeys. "You need to go home."

What? "What?" Ryan is flabbergasted. This is his home. "I am home." What drugs do they have Theresa on? He is home, here, with her. She still needs his support, and he's still willing to give it to her, although there is no baby in the picture anymore.

"No, Ryan." Theresa sighs. She pushes the covers away from her body and sits up. "I mean, you need to go home. To the Cohens."

"No." It's as simple as that. He's not going home. He doesn't want to go home. Wait, the Cohen house isn't even his home. So really, he's just not going back…_there_.

"I want you to go home. Look at you. You'll be miserable here. Ryan, you deserve better."

Ryan lies back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. She's kicking him out, that's what she's doing. He's not good enough for her. That must be it. "So now I'm not good enough for you?" he challenges.

Theresa laughs. "That's not the issue and you and I both know it. Stop lying to yourself, Ryan. You need to go back there. You need to work things out with Sandy and Kir—your mother, and get on with your life."

"But you need me," protests Ryan, "and she's not my mother."

"I don't need you, Ryan. Not as badly as they need you, at least." Theresa pauses, lets Ryan consider this for a moment. "And she is your mother. I know you've always been jealous of Seth, for having her. Well, now _you_ have her too. Don't waste it, embrace it."

"I'm staying here. Or I'll find somewhere else to live. But they—she doesn't want me in her house. I'm going to take a shower," Ryan says firmly, and exits the room. Theresa sighs deeply. How will she get him to understand?

As if on cue, the phone rings. Theresa gets up to answer it.

"Hello?" Theresa can hear the shower running.

"Theresa? It's Sandy."

"Hi, Mr. Cohen."

"Is Ryan there? I need to talk to him."

"He actually just got in the shower, but I can have him call you back."

"Okay, thanks Theresa."

Theresa is just about to hang up the phone when she hears Sandy's voice through the receiver.

"What was that, Mr. Cohen?" she asks, pressing the phone up to her ear again.

"I was…can you tell Ryan that we miss him? And we really want him to come home. He's always welcome here." Sandy's voice cracks a few times. "Thanks." He hangs up the phone and Theresa is left with the dial tone.

Poor Mr. Cohen, thinks Theresa. She can't even imagine how Kirsten is faring. She resolves to have Ryan back with the Cohens, no matter what. They really need him, and, as much as Theresa feels like being selfish and keeping Ryan, she knows it's not what's best. She and Ryan shouldn't be together. Their only link was the baby, and there is no longer a baby in the picture.

Once Ryan is out of the shower and dressed, he gets into bed with Theresa, who has, by this point, returned to her warm and comfortable bed.

"Ryan?" Theresa asks, not sure if Ryan is sleeping or not. Most nights he comes in after she's already asleep, but the nights that she isn't, he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

"Hmm?" Ryan mumbles. Good. He's not asleep but not fully awake right now. In this state maybe he'll be more willing to listen to Theresa.

"Mr. Coh—Sandy called earlier. He sounded really upset." Theresa stops to make sure Ryan is still listening. She can hear him breathing steadily and wonders if he's just fallen asleep.

"Really?" Ryan sounds uninterested, but then again, what can Theresa expect from an exhausted, half-asleep seventeen-year-old.

"He really misses you. And he wants you to come home." Theresa contemplates telling Ryan that the message was from Kirsten too, but decides against it. Maybe it's better to not mention her at all. "I think you should go home."

"I think…I should go home…" Ryan mutters, "but…Theresa…she needs…me. And I can't be in two places at once."

"Sometimes it's not about what other people want," Theresa answers softly, brushing Ryan's cheek with her hand. He turns slightly onto his right side, facing Theresa. "What do you want, Ryan?"

Ryan is quiet and Theresa wonders if he's heard her last question and is just choosing to ignore it, or if he's thinking about his answer. She strokes his cheek and he sighs.

"I want to be…home. Where I belong, where I'm wanted…with the Cohens…"

That's a good enough answer for Theresa. She leans over and kisses the top of his head.

"'Night, Ryan."

The next morning, around eleven o'clock, sees Ryan, suitcase in hand, walking down the steps of Theresa's house. A shiny black Beemer is purring in the driveway, the driver a dark haired man with overly excited eyebrows.

Ryan walks around to the trunk of the car, which opens automatically. He puts his suitcase in the trunk and shuts it. Theresa is standing on the steps in her light blue bathrobe. He walks up the first step and hugs her, kisses her on the lips, as a friend.

He smiles at her and gets in the passenger side of the BMW. Theresa waves at the two men until the car roars out of sight.

Then, she sits down on her steps and cries.

For her lost child.

For her lost fertility.

For her lost Ryan.

She sniffs and goes back inside her home to start the daily tasks and get on with her life.

If Theresa weren't so focused on mopping the kitchen floor she thinks she just might cry again.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Schwartz & Co. own it all...

Author's Note: This fic may be going on temporary hiatus, due to lack of time and interest. The Ex will continue to be updated, hopefully on a weekly basis. And of course - I'll try to post some one-shots. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

* * *

"Ryan, I ordered a pizza. Are you hungry?" Sandy opens the door of the poolhouse and sees Ryan lying on his bed.

Ryan shrugs, glancing at Sandy. Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he mutters, "I guess."

They walk past the sparkling infinity pool, unused since Ryan's return to Chino and Seth's disappearance. Into the house they go. Kirsten sets a liter of Pepsi on the table and smiles at Sandy and Ryan.

"Who's ready for some pizza?" she asks, jokingly. Sandy laughs, even though Kirsten really isn't all that funny, and Ryan ignores her, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down stiffly.

Dinner hears mostly the sounds of chewing and swallowing; without Seth to break the tension with witty banter, the house sounds empty.

"So," Kirsten starts, "Has there been any word on Seth, Sandy?"

Sandy looks at her. "Wouldn't I have called you?"

"So there's no news?"

"No."

"Ryan, how is Theresa doing?" Kirsten asks, changing the subject.

Ryan freezes, picks up his glass and takes a sip of soda. "Fine," he mumbles.

"She was okay with you coming home?"

"_She_ was the one who wanted me back here. I wanted to stay there with her…that's my home."

Kirsten steals a look at Sandy, feeling anger rise like bile to her throat. "You know, Ryan, I'm trying, okay. I'm trying. But it doesn't do any good when you act like this!"

"Act like what? How would you know what I act like? You don't know me. You didn't stick around long enough to get to know me," Ryan bursts out. Sandy looks from Kirsten to Ryan and back again, shocked. Shocked because of Kirsten's unexpected anger and because Ryan doesn't usually speak in full sentences.

"Ryan – I've told you, I was young and misguided. I didn't have someone to help me make a decision. I was scared. And I know…God knows I can't make up those years, but I can be the best goddamn mother ever from now on."

"You had me," Sandy points out.

"Sandy, stay out of it," Ryan and Kirsten say at the same time, then turn to glare at each other.

"Well, that's a lame excuse. It doesn't change the fact that you sent me to live with…with Dawn! And her string of abusive boyfriends, after my dad left." Ryan's yelling and gripping the table now, and Sandy begins to stand up, afraid of what Ryan might do in this state of aggravation.

"Ryan," Kirsten whimpers, head in her hands, "I was lost. And I admit, I made a mistake. If I had known what kind of people Dawn and Eric Atwood were, I might have opted for another set of parents. But I didn't, Ryan. They were presented to me as perfectly fine people, and who was I to know better?" Without waiting to gauge Ryan's reaction she continues, "I'm sorry, honey, I really am."

"Haven't heard _that_ before," Ryan snaps, and stands up. "After a while, sorry just isn't good enough. It gets _old_."

He picks up his plate and glass and goes into the kitchen, placing them in the stainless steel sink. Then, walking back past the table where Sandy and Kirsten are frozen, he says, "It was a mistake coming back here. I knew it would be."

He leaves Kirsten and Sandy to collapse in each other's arms, unable to speak or think coherent thoughts.

Ryan hates me, thinks Kirsten. He must.

Sandy kisses Kirsten's forehead. "Ryan doesn't hate you," he tells her.

And this is why she loves him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan wakes up feeling like he's got a frog in his throat. When he groans to clear it, he whimpers, for his throat's gone sore. He opens his eyes and the wall before him wavers briefly before jumping into view. He feels…a little lopsided.

And Ryan is dead tired. Last night, after he'd stomped into the poolhouse and locked the doors, Ryan lay in the dark regretting everything he'd yelled at Kirsten at dinner. She didn't deserve it, not really, not when Ryan himself wouldn't even listen to her and attempt to understand her motives.

The exhaustion also comes from the new information that's been sprung upon him. Kirsten is his mother. Ryan's known for several days but every time he thinks about it, really, really thinks about it, it's as though he's just been told.

He wobbles out of bed and stumbles over to the bathroom, relieving himself and washing his face. Touching his face after he dries it with a towel, Ryan finds that he's burning up. Great. A fever. Just what he needs.

Around 9:30 Sandy knocks on the poolhouse doors. Ryan manages to open the doors, before collapsing into Sandy's arms.

"Whoa, there, Ryan. You okay?" Sandy helps Ryan back to his bed and when he's all snug and settled, Sandy feels his forehead. "You've got a fever, Ryan."

"I know," Ryan croaks, cracking a smile.

"And a sore throat…you can barely talk…" Sandy rubs his chin thoughtfully, "But that's nothing new."

Ryan opens his mouth and attempts to speak but nothing comes out. Nothing Sandy can interpret, that is.

"Why don't I get you some tea, or soup maybe?" Ryan nods at this suggestion. "Okay, I'll be back in a flash."

Once Sandy's gone back to the main house, he checks his watch and finds that if he doesn't leave now, he's going to be late for a meeting with prospective clients. Rachel will be pretty angry if he skips out on this one.

"Kirsten," he calls, "Come down here."

Kirsten appears in the kitchen in an instant, wrapped up in a monogrammed cream colored bathrobe, rubbing her eyes.

Sandy kisses her eyelids, then cuts to the chase. "I've got a meeting in twenty minutes and if I leave now I'll just make it."

"Okay," Kirsten says, "And?"

"Ryan's sick. He's got a fever and his throat's sore as hell; he can barely talk, not that he does when he's feeling fine. But I need you to make him soup or something, okay?"

"Sandy…do you think that's a good idea? Ryan and I – we're not exactly on speaking terms now, are we?"

"Do something about that, then." Sandy kisses Kirsten on the lips for a full twenty seconds before saying, "I better go." He leaves, and Kirsten goes to the pantry.

She scans the shelves of packaged foods and her eyes come to rest on a familiar red and white can.

Twenty minutes later, nursing a burnt finger, Kirsten carries a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice on it out to the poolhouse. The bowl she's filled up too high and the soup is sloshing over the sides.

Using her elbow, Kirsten opens the door to the poolhouse. Ryan is lying in his bed, eyes closed.

"Sandy?" he murmurs.

"Kirsten," she replies. He opens his eyes, almost disbelievingly, and shuts them again.

"Sandy said he'd bring me something," Ryan says in a raspy voice.

"He had a meeting he was running late to and so I said I'd make you something. I hope that's okay."

Ryan shakes his head from side to side and Kirsten can only assume that it's a 'yes'.

She carries the tray to Ryan's bed, careful now not to spill any of the soup on him. He sees the soup and arches an eyebrow.

"It's Campbell's, don't worry," Kirsten laughs, and Ryan smiles slightly. She sets it before him and he sits up in bed, holding the tray steady. Kirsten sits down on the other side of the bed.

Ryan lifts the spoon to his mouth and puts it down quickly, wagging his tongue. He blows on the soup. Then, pointing to Kirsten's finger, he asks, "What happened?"

Kirsten looks down. "Oh, that. I burned it on the pot."

Ryan nods knowingly. He takes another tentative spoonful of soup and this time it's not too hot.

They sit in silence while Ryan consumes two thirds of the soup. Kirsten can't take her eyes off of Ryan. Her first born. Her little baby.

"You know," she begins, not sure where the words or the courage to speak them is coming from, "I remember the moment you were born. I looked into your eyes – even then they were striking, and I saw tufts of blond hair on your perfect little head…and I knew that if I held you for another second, I'd never let you go. So I kissed you on the head, and let the nurses take you away."

Ryan didn't respond, which Kirsten took as a good sign, and continued, "And after that, I really doubted my decision. I wanted to see you grow up, to shape you and to find out what kind of person you'd be, but I wasn't mature enough or responsible enough at the time…and then when I was released, I went to see you, and Dawn and Eric were there…and they looked – how do I say this – not so well to do, and I was worried for you, Ryan, but I knew that it was out of my hands already."

"You couldn't have just taken me back, not after you'd signed me over," Ryan realizes, taking a swallow of the orange juice.

"After that – I hightailed it out of there. Because if I had stayed another minute I would've been on my knees begging your parents to let me keep you. I was sick with worry…had I just determined your future?" Kirsten smiles, takes Ryan's hand in her own and rubs it gently. He pleases her by not recoiling at her touch.

"So how'd you know it was me, then, after all these years?" Ryan asks quietly. Kirsten's never been so open with him before. And he's realizing, that listening to her, actually listening to what she was feeling when she put him up for adoption, helps him understand. It doesn't make him feel better, but at least her actions have been justified.

"When you first came here," Kirsten admits, "I didn't trust you all that much. There was something familiar about you though, something oddly comforting. And obviously, you grew on me. I just could never pinpoint what it was about you that I recognized. But my instincts told me you were okay." She takes a deep breath. "And then…once you'd left with Theresa, it hit me. Those eyes…I'd seen them before. You were my son."

Ryan sniffs then, and not because of his cold. He couldn't help it; knowing all of this just makes him very emotional. This was his mother. Kirsten was his mother. He found himself wrapping his arms around Kirsten and pulling her in tightly.

She relaxes within his strong, determined embrace. A son's embrace.

"I love you, honey," she says, tears springing to her eyes. _This_ was how she wanted it to be with Ryan. She wants to be a good mother to him. And she has a feeling this is a wonderful start.

"I love you," Ryan chokes out, though his throat is sore and tears are stinging his eyes. "I've missed you."


End file.
